Towards the Horizon
by compte.ferme
Summary: He was Captain Jack Sparrow, he of the broken hearts and the jealous husbands. He of the short flings and the complete disregard of innocence and commitment. Sparrowbeth
1. Towards The Horizon

**Towards the Horizon**

**Jasmine Signet**

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The rum was meant to drown his sorrows; to make him forget. To make him angry about the time she had burned the rum. To make him happy he was free and on the sea. But the rum brought back unwelcome memories of islands and dancing around fires and songs and happiness and…freedom. 

The rum was supposed to burn his way down his throat; to burn out all thoughts of her and his stupid mistakes and her pain and her anger and his stinging cheek and Will.

Mostly Will. Will and the way he had betrayed him. The way he had wanted his Elizabeth, his _friend's_ woman.

For she was his, however much he wanted to think otherwise. However much she had wanted him too. However much she had wanted to run away with him. However much he had said no. However much she had slapped him. However much he had still wanted Will's Elizabeth.

Wasn't that, after all, the reason he had run away from Port Royal? So that she would forget him and get on with her life? Will would not, Jack was sure, be appreciative of his wife running off with Jack Sparrow into the horizon. And so, even though she had asked him to let her sail on the _Black Pearl_, he had said no.

Wasn't that why he'd left the pistol on Elizabeth's nightstand and gone? Notes were not his forte; he had left one for Giselle a couple of years back and she had sent messages for him that had resulted in more stinging cheeks and pain. But he'd hoped that the symbolic message would be enough for her to understand; hoped that she wouldn't take one look at it and throw it into the harbour.

Hoped that she would remember. Remember him, and remember how sorry he was, for what he was and for what he wasn't.

Then again, it was Elizabeth, his – no, _Will's_ – feisty pirate lass. She would take a look at it and throw it into the harbour. Or, even worse, she would hail down a sailor or two and force him to sail to Tortuga and give it back to him.

He hoped she wouldn't throw it into the harbour. It was a fine pistol.

The rum was making him think. He didn't want to think – in fact, this was one of the many times in his life that he wanted to be completely and utterly inebriated. He had never thought, never in his wildest dreams, that a woman – a married woman, nonetheless – would want not to settle down with him, but to set sail with him and to live his life. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, he of the broken hearts and the jealous husbands. He of the short flings and the complete disregard of innocence and commitment.

He wouldn't have minded sailing off with dear Lizzie off into the horizon, no, not at all. A man needed a wench at his side and in his bed.

He took another swig of the rum. It burned its way down his throat, but it did not make him forget. No. it reminded him of a Lizzie trying to shoot a net filled with barrels of…rum. Reminded him of knowing what he wanted most was on his ship. Reminded him of his pirate lass.

No, Will's _lady_.

No, she was a pirate, and a bloody fine one at that. He glared moodily at the strumpet who was trying to sit on his lap. He tipped the rum down his throat again.

Damn. Empty. He stumbled drunkenly up and weaved his way to the bar.

'Captain Jack Sparrow!'

He twisted and nearly fell over. Damn, he was drunk. But the rum was gone… needed more rum… he was hallucinating now. Yes. Hallucinating. Oh, good. The rum was working. But of all things to hallucinate.

His head snapped back and he frowned. Apparently this was not a hallucination. He didn't think he could hallucinate that much pain.

'Lizzie, luv,' he said, 'what can ol' Jack do for you?'

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**A/N: I'm thinking of turning this into a kind of series of small vignettes... Might, might not. Depends on whether my muse decides to return from the Black Pearl. :P Well, reviews are appreciated! **


	2. Being Free And On The Sea

She has always known about _men_ and _women_; as a child she had found one of her maid's novels. Perhaps that was when she had lost her _innocence_, the moment she had read, with not a little _horror_, what _men _and _women_ did, of pleasured _pain_ and of _heat_ and of _love_…

Funny, that. She remembers every word, every scene in those novels, and never did they once mention _lust_. Never did they mention _wanting_ and _longing_ and of eventual _horror _at what she had _done_…

No, those novels had not once mentioned _original sin_, of satisfied _needs _that were _forbidden_… For man wants what he cannot _have_, and the forbidden _apple _never tasted so _sweet…_

She remembers growing up, longing, longing, _longing_, for something other than _marriage _and _children_ and _restriction_. She remembers reading exploits of _pirates_ and _wishing_, secretly _appalled _at herself, of pirates _plundering_ and _pillaging_ and perhaps, only a little, _ravishing…_

For the forbidden fruit never tasted so sweet, no?

She remembers the _heat_, the terrible heat, as her wet body was _pressed_ against _him_… And she cannot _help_ but to _shiver_ involuntarily, from the remembrance of the rush of _arousal_ that she couldn't possibly have _helped_…

She remembers the cold _kiss_ of metal as it _brushed_ ever so slightly against her temple… remembers the taste of _danger_ and how very _erotic_ it was… remembers the taste of _relief_ as he swung away, up, up… She remembers thinking that he had, once again, _flown_ towards the _horizon_…

She has always known about _Captain Jack Sparrow_; as a child she had, on her father's ships, chased pirates around the seas, hearing always his name upon everyone's _lips_… And she had read about his _exploits_ and his _brilliance_ and his _looks…_

Funny, that. She remembers every word, every scene in those novels, and yet she remembers most vividly the descriptions of his _looks_… Then again, young teenage girls _want_ such things. She remembers thinking about _love_ and _Captain Jack Sparrow _in the same _sentence…_

Yes, those books had mentioned _lust_. And yet, she remembers wanting not _lust_, but _love_. For she remembers being young, once, and holding young foolish _ideals _and _dreams_…

She remembers having _dreams_, and waking to find herself _moaning_ with _pleasure_… Waking to find herself slick between her legs, and feeling _guilty _and _dirty._

Then between the _guilt_ and the feeling of being _dirty_, she would want to fall asleep again, just to _dream_ again…

She remembers the compass. Does she _believe_ that it shows you what you _want_? She supposes so. She _knows_ now… knows that she was in _denial_ and that it was a hopeless childhood _dream_ of innocence and flowers and rings and _belonging_. She knows that _reality_ is much harder than the _wish_, knows that what you want as a child rarely happens. Wants _change_, hearts _change_, and minds _change. _

She knows that she has _learned_, really, that what she wants is not just _Captain Jack Sparrow_, but to be _with _him.

She also knows, now, that it will never _happen_. No, not really, for _Captain Jack Sparrow _is the sea's. _He_ is borrowed; borrowed until he _tires_ of dear Lizzie and _runs_ off to the _sea_ again. No, he is _free_, truly free, unfettered by the _binds_ and _ties_ of love.

Yes, _lust _is more convenient, and not nearly as _devastating _as true love.

But she finds that she doesn't _care_; doesn't care that _Captain Jack Sparrow _will run off again as soon as she comes. She wants to _sail_ towards the _horizon_, and perhaps, she will _find_ another who interests her, and understands what _commitment _means. She finds that she doesn't care about whether _Captain Jack Sparrow_ wants her any more.

She knows that _he_ is borrowed, but her _lust_ – or is it _love_? – is hers.

And with her it will stay. No, she will not give it even to _him_.

For she knows also that if she does, it will never come back.

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**A/N: Okay, then... I have a very vague idea which I think will work for this. I have decided to turn it into a small collection of mini-ficlets. Hope you like:) Please review - I LOVE feedback!**


	3. Do You Know What You Want?

The hammock is hardly generous. It is not comfortable. It stinks, faintly, of rum.

But she doesn't care, his Lizzie. For she is his, now.

He knows that she knows that she has been placed with the crew for fear of what either of them will do. Will could forgive Lizzie running away to sea, perhaps, but never of them in the same cabin. Never. Will Turner was an honourable man, and would never understand dishonour.

Jack knows that Will will never take his Lizzie back anyway, tainted as she is now. He knows that it is just wishful thinking on her part.

But he will let her dream.

Dreams are all she has now.

But she seems to want something different. She doesn't want to be left on a hammock.

She wants to be corrupted, his Lizzie.

Does she know what she wants? he asks. So she leans forward and pulls his compass away from his hip where it hangs, and opens it. She looks mutely at it and shows it to him.

Yes, Elizabeth Swann says. I know what it is I want.

So he corrupts her, tears away her childhood and tears away her innocence. She welcomes the corruption, embraces it really.

He washes away the guilt with the rum. The sweet, blessed rum.

She wanted to be corrupted, he reasons to himself. It was bound to happen, he says.

If she wants to be corrupted, he will hardly deny her.

But people rarely want what is good for them, he says, gold teeth glinting on the third night.

I don't care, she says, her eyes flashing in the candlelight. I want to be selfish. I don't care.

He wants to point out that she said it twice. But he doesn't.

He knows that he should take what he can, and give nothing back. He knows that he will.

He doesn't quite know if she understands that yet.

He wonders if she has forgotten their first kiss. A sentimental thought, perhaps, but a valid one nonetherless. He wonders what would happen if he reminded her.

_Do you remember, Lizzie? _He wants to ask. _When you condemned me to death?_

_When you left with William Turner?_

They stop off at Tortuga, and Lizzie opts to come with the men to the Faithful Bride.

A wench parks herself flirtatiously on his lap, and he puts his arms around her.

Elizabeth Swann pushes herself away from the tavern table, and walks back to the _Black Pearl_.

Perhaps she will understand, now, he says to himself.

But she is young, and he is not.

The next night she is back in his cabin, and acts like nothing happened the past night.

_What is it you want?_ He wants to ask. _What is it that you want me to give you?_

He doesn't ask her.

He doesn't want to know what she will say.

He knows that he won't be able to give it to her. He can't give her something he never had.

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**A/N: Lalalalala... like? Please review! I like to know what y'all think:)**


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